


Lucid Dreaming

by AnotherAldebaran



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAldebaran/pseuds/AnotherAldebaran
Summary: Hermione has dreams about someone who makes her feel things she has never felt before, but doesn't know who it is as she tries to make sense of the world around her and survive the war. Who is the dark-haired man and how will he affect her life? A dream diary of sorts. EWE, AU post-war short story in 3 chapters (plus an epilogue), follows canon up until the battle.





	1. Dreams

**Dreams**

~x~x~x~

Hi, diary. I'm Hermione Granger. Is that how one's supposed to begin?

I became interested in lucid dreaming some time this summer after a discussion with my dad and one of his business friends, and want to give it a try. We'll see. Perhaps this notebook will just end up as a diary? I've already found some charms I can use when I'm back at Hogwarts again to be able to dictate what I want to write without even opening the book. Stupid under-age-magic clause. So far there's nothing to report, at least, I rarely remember my dreams. I'm starting sixth year this autumn. NEWT level classes, finally. I hope lucid dreaming can help me study more efficiently.

~x~x~x~

I seem to have forgotten about this journal during the start of term but now it's November already and I need to write things down to make sure I'm not going insane. Well, insane-er. The dictation charm seems to work, anyway, I worked out an improvement to it so that I don't have to speak out loud to record what I want to write down.

It had begun some time after I turned seventeen. At first it was subtle, a vague feeling, a memory, a tingling to my lips when I woke up in the dorms, a lingering taste on my tongue. It didn't happen very often either but when I finally got around to touching myself, usually in the Prefect's bathroom, it seemed as if my fantasies were shaped by these impressions, or perhaps they feed off each other, my libido and my dreams.

I still don't know who it might be. I guess it's just my subconscious that has latched on to some images, maybe from Muggle pop culture? Some movie star or other?

Lavender is flaunting her conquest of Ron in my face. She makes me so angry but I'm still not quite sure why I care. She's stupid. He's stupid too. And Cormac Bloody McLaggen is even stupider. Stupidest. Gah.

~x~x~x~

I've started to see, or imagine, more of the man in question. Dark hair, dark eyes, strong hands. Could be anyone, though; I don't see his face. He kisses like a dream, though. Sometimes my knickers are wet when I wake up. At least it's obviously not Ron.

The year moves onward and I can sense the train wreck coming just around the next bend but there doesn't seem to be any way to stop it. Harry's belligerently obnoxious over Malfoy, Ron's a git and my dreams have forced me to cast a permanent silencing charm around my bed so that I don't wake the others up when I come in my sleep due to my dream lover.

~x~x~x~

I was right. Train wreck, indeed. The Headmaster dead, killed by Professor Snape? It doesn't make sense, none of it, why did he do it, why didn't he do anything worse to Luna, Flitwick and me when we ran into him, why didn't he tie up Harry into a neat present for Mouldy Voldy when he had the chance?

~x~x~x~

He comes to me at home after I Obliviate my parents and destroy my own childhood. They left for Heathrow early this morning and I spent the rest of the day crying, cleaning, crying some more. I put all the wards I could think of on the place so that there may be something left for someone to return to later. All bills are on direct debit from an account with more than enough funds for a few years so I'm all set there at least, and if not, the Muggle authorities will probably forget this address ever existed anyway. I cry myself to sleep on the couch in the living room and soon he's there, holding me close, whispering calming things in my ear. I cry even harder when I realise he's not real, it's all just a dream, but he silences me with a kiss and I need him. He kisses his way down my body, my clothes suddenly gone, his mouth on my breast, then the other, then further down, trailing kisses down my stomach. I wonder who he is and what it would be like to be kissed like this for real and then he settles between my legs and touches me _there_ and then his oh so clever mouth is there while he pushes a finger inside and — I wake up gasping from an orgasm. Where did my clothes go?

~x~x~x~

Harry is brooding but somehow against all odds we manage to raid the Ministry and steal Umbridge's Horcrux but now we can't return to Grimmauld and both of them think I have the answer to all the questions in the Universe in this bag. I don't know why I'm still lugging around this journal. Unfortunately it doesn't have any answers to how one goes about destroying soul fragments.

~x~x~x~

He nudges my knees apart and settles between them, his weight pinning me down. My name on his lips, a deep chuckle as he kisses his way down my throat, long fingers tweaking my nipple.

I want — want —

But when my eyes snap open his hair is wrong and his scent is wrong and everything is wrong. We're in a blasted tent, for one, that fact is all kinds of wrong all to itself.

"Ron! No! Get off!"

He looks up in confusion. "But you liked it! Come on, Hermione!"

Harry comes in, luckily. "Ron, what are you doing?"

Ron sulks off somewhere, I don't care. We're back to the bleak reality of the awful tent and hunting for clues with nothing to go on apart from a children's fairy tale book, taking turns carrying the horrible soul fragment that feeds on our worst fears.

~x~x~x~

I hate camping. I swear, on the old gods and the new, if I survive this blasted war I'll never ever ever set my foot in a tent ever again.

~x~x~x~

Bellatrix — she — she — no please no I let my dreams take over instead, I retreat somewhere deep inside myself where he comes to me, holds me, whispers that I'm strong and that I will survive and that I should let my body relax as if I'm floating in the ocean when the waves of the Cruciatus hit me. Just as I pass out I hear a commotion, is that Dobby? How?

Only the memory of the man in my dreams keeps me together. He holds me when I dream, when my nightmares wake me up in the middle of the night. He whispers in my ear and I think in my dreams I know who he is. I know him. But who?

~x~x~x~

Oh no it can't be him how on Earth am I fixated on _him_? But I know that voice, those hands, that face, I've seen them in my mind for a year and a half, and much longer before that in the flesh, in the classroom. He's dying, the snake, this is beyond horrible —

I don't think it helped. I poured the rest of my Dittany over his throat, managed to Summon several potions from his robe pockets, I even managed to wrap his throat up with my scarf but it soaked through in about a minute so I think won't work. Jesus and Circe and all their little piglets, he's dying and Ron just whines about leaving the git alone and I can't — I can't!


	2. Awakening

**Awakening**

~x~x~x~

He's back, why is he back? He sits at the end of the Head Table, next to Professor Sprout who ignores him, just as he ignores everyone else. He sits rigidly straight, staring at nothing, lips pinched tight, mask in place. Although he appears the same, physically, he still looks awful. His eyes are as dead as mine probably appear.

Dreams, whispers. He comes to me at night, whispering in my ear. Standing behind me, nipping my earlobe, his hands cupping my breasts. I press myself against his chest. I want more, I want everything. I want him. I turn things around on him, too, learning his body, what he enjoys the most. I take him into my mouth, experimentally, and I swear when I wake up I can feel the slightly bitter aftertaste on my tongue.

~x~x~x~

Ron is obliviously annoying, ever since the kiss he stole after we destroyed the cup. He seems to think we're a couple now and keeps on writing from his Auror training. I let him think so over summer despite not kissing him again but now I have to end this. Seeing Professor Snape here, alive, really hammers it home.

Potions class is torture. He lectures and stalks the classroom just as before but I can't look him without simultaneously seeing how he kissed me the night before, or imagine him taking me from behind on his desk, or knowing what his face looks like when he crumbles with pleasure.

~x~x~x~

At least I finally managed to shake off Ron. Apparently there's a witch in their Auror training class who's been interested. From his guilty looks over a Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks it seems obvious they've moved it further than that already. Good riddance, I say. No, my thoughts go in a rather different direction, to Mr Tall Dark and Snarky with an allergy to dunderheads.

~x~x~x~

Could I ever…?

No. Surely not. He'd never want me, a Gryffindor Muggleborn, scarred and bushy-haired and a boring bookworm. Know-it-all. Insufferable. I know, all of it.

But for some reason he's the one I want. This man, this wizard.

Yes.

~x~x~x~

It feels odd to have gone a whole year without disasters and crises, although I guess all of us have needed healing from the war. I doubt I'm the only one who hasn't been able to sleep well. Luna has been a godsend, anyway. She put together some sort of vaguely defined art therapy class and with the Headmistress' blessing most of the affected students have attended. The Leaving Feast is … odd, given the circumstances. Hufflepuff wins the Cup, I couldn't care less. I feel a bit sad over leaving Hogwarts, finally, but at the same time I'm not part of this group anyway, anymore, being a year older than most. I should have been here last year, after all, with Harry and Ron and Neville and the others.

~x~x~x~

Okay. I'm not a student anymore. Time to do this. Deep breaths, Hermione.

I borrowed the Marauder's Map from Harry before leaving for the term after summer and thus it's easy to seek him out. Well, easier, at least.

The Astronomy tower. It feels strange to scale the stairs for what is surely to be the last time. Why is he here, of all places? Given what happened here two years ago? He stands still as a statue, resting his hands on the balustrade that encircled the whole tower, looking out over the grounds.

"Professor…"

He turns his head slightly but doesn't look at me. "Not any longer, Miss Granger."

"What should I call you, then, sir?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose but keeps his eyes on the Forbidden Forest in the distance. "Please call me Severus, Miss Granger. It is, after all, my name."

My heart does somersaults in my chest. Does he mean it? "Thank you, Severus. Please call me Hermione, then. It is, after all, my name."

Finally he turns his head towards me, a small smile just at the corner of his lips, a softening of his eyes. "What are your plans now that you are free from school, Hermione?"

My name like that, on his lips, and I swear my knickers need changing already. Damn the man, how can he affect me so?

"I'm joining the Ministry for a while," I admit. "It's a pretty low position but I hope to advance quickly."

"I see."

Nothing more is said. He looks out over the grounds and I watch him surreptitiously although he's probably more than aware of my gaze.

He turns towards me. "Why did you seek me out tonight?" He seems a bit more alive now than he has this past year, a little curiosity in his eyes, not just dead hollow emptiness.

Okay, Hermione. Deep breaths. Time to be a Gryffindor. Shut it, Heart, you can't leap out of my chest just yet. My hands are shaking.

"I wanted to thank you, for all these years and all this time you spent protecting us from Voldemort or from ourselves." He doesn't flinch at the name but it seems as if he's surprised at himself for not doing it. Is the Dark Mark gone? For some reason it has never featured in my dreams. I continue. "I'm glad you survived. It was so awful to see you there with that… that _monster_ , and then we weren't able to do anything and I tried to find some potions in your robes but I wasn't sure it would be enough, and —"

He moves closer and raises a hand as if to stop me before slowly settling it on my cheek. His hand is warm, strong. Solid. His touch burns my skin. Please, burn more of me.

"I didn't know it was you," he murmurs and wipes my tears away with his thumb, I hadn't noticed them falling. I shudder and almost fall into his touch, letting him surround me. He smells like books and parchment and potions ingredients and sandalwood and just perfect.

"I've dreamt of you ever since I turned seventeen. I can't explain it but over the years the dreams have become more intense, more … explicit, I guess. At first I didn't know who the man in my dreams was, not until I saw you that night actually, when you got your throat ripped out by a bloody snake and I thought I'd never be able to tell you what you meant to me."

He makes a strangled noise in his throat but I don't let him speak, if I don't say all of it now it will never be said. My arms have snaked up around his back without me noticing. I pull my head back slightly to look up at him. He seems bewildered, confused, as if he can't believe it. "You saved me when I was tortured at the Manor and afterwards when I had nightmares, you were there in my mind, you helped me through it."

He pulls away and turns towards the railing again. "Yes, I remember," he almost whispers. "I have dreamt as well, I never thought... I saw what Bella did to you, I tried to shield you. I sent Dobby there but had no idea if it was real or not, if it worked or not, not until the Dark Lord was frothing at the mouth the next day. Did she cut your arm?"

I merely nod and cancel the glamour on the still not healed wound. He curses under his breath and takes my hand, gently turning it palm up as he traces the outlines of a few letters. I catch something about _bastard bitches_ and what he'd like to do to her had she still lived. It's such a relief, such a contrast from Harry's feeling of guilt and inadequacy and Ron's disgust — aimed at me, for being marked.

"One more thing… Would you kiss me, Severus?"

He looks pained, for some reason. "Witch, I shouldn't. You were my student up until this very evening. I'm twenty years your senior and not someone a young witch like yourself should associate with."

"I know all that," I say as evenly as I can manage. "I don't care. I don't understand these dreams but as far as I'm concerned you've kissed me for two and a half years already. Don't tell me it's just dreams, either, or do you deny having a scar in the shape of a crescent moon right here?" I trace the shape of it on his left pectoral muscle, just above his nipple, where I have kissed it so many times in my dreams. "Or that you have a birth mark in the shape of a shamrock just about here?" This one goes on his stomach, slightly to the right of his navel. I know this body, this man. I need to convince him, too. "I've seen you here in this castle, Severus Snape, this past year. You're not living, are you? You returned because it's easy and because it dulls the pain of existing, for a little while. What do you want for yourself? Whatever your future holds, I'd very much like to be a part of it. If you'd let me?"

The fire is back in his eyes, finally, and he seems to be breathing as hard as if he'd been running up the stairs to this very tower.

"Witch, are you sure?" he asks, his voice low and slightly choked with emotion. "If I were to claim you in the way I already have in those dreams, I would never let you go again. If you just want a fling I need to ask you to leave me alone."

"I'm already yours," I manage to tell him just before he takes a step towards me and his lips crash on mine and oh it's as if the whole sky comes alight with Weasley fireworks and _oh_ could someone please stop time now. Yes this is right, he is right, _we_ are right. Together. I open my mouth to him and claim his tongue for myself. He tastes of longing and Firewhisky.

"Mine," I murmur against his lips as we finally part for breath, my hands apparently having had a mind of their own, tangling in his hair. He is breathing heavily and pulls me flush against him, allowing me to feel his arousal against my stomach.

"It is getting cold up here. Would you consent to joining me in my quarters? I think we need to talk."

I must have blushed, but nod and turn to leave with him, but still he must have felt my hesitation.

"We are not going further tonight, Hermione. Not here, not in this Castle, not tonight."

I feel torn between relief and annoyance, but still nod. "As long as you kiss me like that again."

He smiles then, an unguarded smile that makes him appear years younger. "Gladly."

I follow him down to the dungeons, past the Great Hall entrance, past the Potions classroom, and finally he stops before a tapestry and raises his hand towards it. A doorway shimmers into existence behind it and the tapestry parts in the middle like a curtain just as the door silently opens inward to a short corridor. A few steps further and we're through another door which opens to a very ordinary-looking sitting room. He hangs his teaching robes on a hook by the door as I step in and look around.

There's a dining room table along the wall straight ahead from the entrance with a kitchenette visible in an alcove just behind it, although the table is completely buried in books and parchment and the kitchen looks to be invaded by potions equipment. The walls are a neutral beige but quite invisible as bookshelves cover every available space and a few that appear rather impossible. He has a couch and a leather armchair by the fireplace, a coffee table between them and a side table laden with books by the armchair. Area rugs in muted colours cover most of the flagstone floor in a rather haphazard manner.

I take a seat on the couch, half hoping and half nervous that he'd sit next to me, but to my disappointment he chooses the armchair. He must have put in a request to the kitchen as a tea set suddenly appears on the coffee table, and he pours my cup just as I usually take it at breakfast, milk no sugar due to my upbringing with two dentist parents.

"Thanks," I manage. He seems as tense as I feel. What does one say to the man one has dreamt of, literally, for two and a half years? Hi good to meet you can we jump into bed now?

He clears his throat. "What have the Healers said about your arm?"

I cross my arms under my breasts. I want to hide. "No… they haven't seen it."

He raises an eyebrow at me but seems to catch himself before telling me I'm stupid. I know. I just can't.

"Fleur helped me when we escaped the Manor. She did something Veela to it but it seems to be unravelling and I just can't deal with all the mess at St Mungo's and then Poppy has been so busy with everyone else and all that's happened and I just…"

"Hermione," he interrupts. "I do understand. Tell me what happened."

Soon the whole sorry tale spills out, along with all my tears. He listens and hands me a handkerchief, pristinely white with his initials embroidered in a corner. After a little longer I found myself continuing with why everything, the whole year, everything bleeding out in one jumbled mess of words.

"Blasted Albus," he murmured after a while. "Sending you out on a fool's errand like that. I will see what I can do to help you with that cursed scar, at any rate."

I nod and beg off to the bathroom to wash off my face. It's apparently through his bedroom — his _bedroom!_ — which I am too embarrassed to notice on the way there, but on the way back I try to take in as much detail as possible without being too obvious about it. He has a good taste in furniture although it seems mainly based on comfort rather than looks, with crisp clean lines, dark wood and deep blue bedclothes on the king size bed.

"Tell me about your year," I ask him when I return.

He frowns and shakes his head. "It was as one might expect for someone who needs to stay under cover with the Death Eaters, trying to keep the Carrows from torturing the students while gaining everyone else's hatred."

"Oh…" I hadn't thought about it, hadn't realised what a nightmare it must have been for him, which makes me feel rather embarrassed. It's not just me who was hurt by this war.

"I had my dreams, though, of a certain young witch who was always happy to see me," he said with a smirk, dark eyes locked on mine again.

His gaze draws me in, like a force field, and somehow I end up sitting sideways on his lap, my hands tangled in his hair as I seek his mouth again, I need him just as he seems to need me, in a self-reinforcing feedback loop.

Finally he disentangles himself from me, holding onto my hands in my lap. He looks delightfully flushed from kissing.

"Witch, it is late. You should return to your dorms."

"But I want to stay with you, now that I've finally found you," I protest.

"Are you sure? I shouldn't agree to this but if you are amenable you may stay here tonight."

"With you?" I manage to squeak.

That eyebrow again. Blast, I'm weak. "Never fear, your virtue is quite safe for tonight. I'd lend you a t-shirt to sleep in."

I mutter something about virtue being overrated which causes him to chuckle.

I shuffle back into the bathroom and manage to Transfigure a piece of paper into a toothbrush but when I reenter the room, now clad in his oversized black Metallica t-shirt, I'm suddenly frozen by uncertainty, what if he meant that I should sleep on the couch? That would never do.

"Did you mean…" I begin but trail off in a blush.

"I should very much like to hold you tonight, unless you snore?"

"Yes! I mean, no I don't, that was Ron."

"Don't mention Weasleys, or Potter, or Longbottom, in my bedroom," he says darkly. I giggle.

I crawl up in his bed, leaving him the side closest to the doors, while he goes off to the bathroom. He douses the lights before I can see much of him as he joins me, but as soon as I manage to shuffle close everything seems to fall into place again. This is right, this is home. This man, this wizard. He pulls me close and kisses my forehead.

Bellatrix comes again and Fenrir behind her and he pulls down my jeans and my knickers and the knife is against my throat and she bites my neck and he… No!

And then strong arms holding me, a warm body at my back. "Hermione, it's just a nightmare, wake up. You are safe now."

Oh it's just a dream? Gradually I become aware of him behind me.

"I'm sorry for waking you up," I manage.

"It's alright," he murmurs and yawns.

I pad off to the bathroom and then slip down under the covers. He pulls me close again and I think he's sniffing my hair. Who could have guessed that Severus Snape is a cuddler? The thought makes me smile, and I think I must have fallen asleep again.

Before I leave the next morning, to join the others for the last breakfast in the Great Hall, he stops me.

"Hermione. Where are you staying now?"

"Grimmauld Place, with Harry and Ginny, to start with," I answer. I still have to find my parents. There's so much to sort out. My whole bloody life, for one.

He nods. "I have several things to arrange over the summer but I will contact you, if you are amenable?"

"Of course," I answer, how could I not?

~x~x~x~

I look for him in the Great Hall just before we're all leaving for the Hogwarts Express for the final time. The bustle of students and Professors trying to round up stragglers, lost items, lost familiars and promises to write each other over the summer makes it impossible to spot the one I most want to see. When we finally exit for the Thestral-driven coaches that will take us to the station his absence feels like a lead weight in my stomach until I look towards the stairs one final time and there. He's on the stairs, immobile save for the wind tousling his hair. I smile at him and even across the distance I see him nod slightly at me. It's odd to imagine, this castle is now my past, but is he in my future?


	3. Lucid

**Lucid**

~x~x~x~

Blasted man, he said he'd be in touch but now several weeks after graduation he hasn't as much as left me a single note. No letters, no dinners, not even a lunch or a quick coffee somewhere. I didn't take him for someone who'd ghost a girl. My dreams have all but stopped, too. Does that mean he doesn't want me after all? Shit, what if he has someone else?

Harry quickly noticed that I was on pins and needles and seems to regret having pulled the sordid tale out of me with the help of too much Firewhisky one rainy Friday evening. Ginny is gleefully happy, however, and says she wants all the details. Not so easy when the object of one's affection is as scarce as ice in Sahara, I informed her. At least it's not Ron, she countered, and I quite agreed. He's talking of dropping out of Auror training and joining a Quidditch team instead for a while.

~x~x~x~

I tried, but I haven't managed to find out how to reverse the charm on my parents. I don't want to do that alone. I'm sick of alone.

~x~x~x~

And then, finally, weeks after I started working in what's already obviously a dead-end position deep in the bowels of the Ministry —

The door bell rings. Harry opens the door, I'm in the dining room nursing a cup of tea and a foul mood after suffering yet another work week shuffling parchment.

"Professor?"

"Not anymore, Potter."

"Err, right, Snape. Why are you here?"

I can just about imagine the raised eyebrow and the glare being levelled at Harry. The thought makes me smile but he still has a lot to explain.

"Well, thank you, and yourself? No, don't bother answering. Is your friend home?"

Harry knows where I am and he's clearly trying to be sneaky about it but sound carries funnily in this old house. "Look, Snape, you've been gone all summer without so much as a letter to her. She's quite mad at you. Why should I let you in at all?"

I don't hear what he answers but all of a sudden it doesn't matter because he's here, standing stiffly across from where I'm sitting looking absolutely gorgeous in grey (grey!) slacks and a white shirt with a loose open black robe over it all. I must have some of those Summoned yellow birds nestling in my stomach because something's making somersaults inside me.

"Hermione. Would you come with me?"

"Now? After you've been gone for all the summer without even sending me a message?" I try to hold on to my anger but it seems to be melting as quickly as ice cream in summer.

"I had some things to sort out first and it took much more time than I expected."

"I thought you wanted me in your life!"

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "I left Hogwarts."

"I… you… what?"

"On the Astronomy tower you asked me what I wanted for myself. I had no answer then but now I finally have something to tell you. May I show you?"

"Oh…"

Well, it's not as if I can refuse, I don't want to. Now that he's here it's so obvious what I've been missing these past few months.

He Apparates us to a cottage in a lush green valley. A huge oak is overlooking the cottage while around the white picket fence other trees and bushes shield the place from view of the road. The cottage is white washed with a grey slate roof and there's a worn wooden bench and table by the window next to an apple tree.

"Minerva approached me earlier. This used to be Albus' cottage but he never spent much time here after starting at Hogwarts. He granted it to Minerva in his will but after I resigned she insisted I have it instead, I think at least partly out of guilt. There's another building out the back which I've set up as a Potions lab. May I show you around?"

We walk around to the back garden where he's already set up an owlery and a potions garden. It's beautiful, if a bit neglected, with wild rose bushes and I think a lilac over by the potions lab building which probably was a stable or similar at some point.

"Where are we?"

"The northern part of Lincolnshire. May I show you the inside of the cottage?"

We go inside from the back entrance, ending up in the dining area that continues into a sitting room. I gasp; it is just so perfect. The sitting room part is in two storeys, open to the rafters, with a huge wrought iron ring chandelier holding loads of magical candles and bookshelves lining the wall corresponding to the gavel end of the building. There's a fireplace with a pot of Floo powder on the mantel, a nice fluffy soft grey rug in front of it, two dark grey armchairs next to each other sharing a side table already laden with books facing the fireplace. There's a balcony of sorts with a wooden staircase leading down directly to the dining area.

He clears his throat and steps behind me. "There are several bedrooms and other rooms upstairs. Plenty of room for books. Although we're in a predominantly Muggle area this is very much a magical cottage and it seems to expand as it sees fit. Albus never actually lived here, he bought it off another Wizarding family at some point during the war against Grindelwald. Most of his books are here, though."

I blush, I've been itching to check out his shelves.

"Would you join me for supper?" he asks. If it were anyone but Severus Snape standing before me I'd say he looks nervous, but surely Severus Snape, Potions Master, Scourge of Hogwarts, would never get nervous?

I see that he's already prepared the table for two. He opens a small bottle of champagne and hands me a flute. With a wave of his hand two plates of avocado and shrimp salad fly in from the kitchen. The man can cook? I'm definitely keeping him, no matter what he says.

Once we finish the salad, I might have moaned in pleasure once or twice over how good it was, I ask him to give me some answers. He tells me he resigned from Hogwarts the very evening all students left the Castle; that he's doing some brewing on commission from various clients — including Hogwarts — for now; that he spent the summer renovating the cottage, clearing out his old home and setting up his business.

"It took me a while to discover what I want for myself but now at least I know more than before. No teaching, a house, income that can fund interesting research … and a witch in my life."

"But why didn't you contact me before?"

In response he rises abruptly and vanishes from the room, leaving me utterly bewildered.

"Here," he says when he returns and puts a jar of some kind of ointment before me. One of his own making, I can tell. I think I can make out yarrow root but apart from that I have no clue what he put into it.

"For your scar, I didn't want to say something until it was finished, tested and registered."

He did that? For me? Somewhat pathetically I think that's the nicest thing I've ever received, and I tell him so which leaves him rather flustered.

"Another thing, Hermione. I also started to research memory restoration and I think I have a couple of leads for something viable that might help your parents. You haven't gone back, have you?"

I can't speak, this is just too much. I just launch myself at him and end up seated in his lap, crying my heart out. He just holds me, his thumb tracing a pattern on my upper arm.

"Thank you," I finally manage, not wanting him to think I'm upset.

We continue the meal. He's made a totally divine lamb stew as main dish. At least the awkward silence is broken now and I ask him about cooking, about the business, about his books, while he in turn asks about my job and other plans. He's even made a very nice apple and blackberry crumble for pudding. I tell him he's better than any house-elf; he snorts and asks me not to knit him any hats. Bastard.

I try to help him put the dishes away but think I'm probably just in the way. It's getting late, it's already dark outside.

"Stay?"

I nod, I'm out of words. Yes, I want to stay. Still, it makes me nervous. Time to be honest again, damn it. "I want to stay with you, and sleep beside you tonight, but…"

He nods and wraps his arms around me. "It's alright, Hermione. I'm not a boy. I would never ask more of you than you're willing to give."

"Thank you," I whisper. "I trust you, you know that, right?"

He closes his eyes and seems to stop breathing for a moment before pulling me tighter and then he tilts his head down to seek out my lips and I lose myself again, I don't know who I am, where does he end and I begin, can we just stay like this forever, please?

We make it upstairs, eventually, and he shows me the bathroom where there's even a spare toothbrush for me to nick, and the same black Metallica t-shirt I borrowed that night in his dungeon. His bedroom here is large, airy and decorated in slate grey and crisp blue colours contrasting the cream walls, wooden furniture and oak floorboards. It looks rather nice, refreshingly simple.

I crawl up in bed next to him and must have fallen asleep ridiculously fast because the next thing I know, it's morning and I can feel his morning wood against my arse. He's snoring slightly but as soon as I give it an experimental wriggle he unfortunately rolls away and rises on an elbow to look at me, still managing to look superiorly smug despite his tousled black hair and shabby t-shirt.

Breakfast is silent which both of us seem to prefer, but afterwards he takes me out to look at the rest of the buildings and the surrounding land. We stop at a brook at the edge of the estate. He takes a deep breath and grasps both of my hands.

"I know this is outrageously quick but, Hermione, I want no one else in my life but you. Although I should set you free to seek out someone better suited, it seems that part of me is selfish enough to want to ask you this anyway. Is there any possibility that you might consent to bonding with me, one day, whenever you feel ready?"

He's proposing? Already? On our second date… or is it the third already?

"Yes, Severus. And it's not quick, it's been happening for three years already."

He smiles at that, open, unguarded, happy. I burst with pride for having caused that expression on his face, and love for this man. It's completely crazy but it feels right. I reach for him, kissing him thoroughly.

"I love you, Severus Snape. In fact, let's do it already. I don't want a fancy wedding. Do you know someone who can do a bonding ceremony?"

"You do?" He looks young, vulnerable. "I should warn you, I don't have much experience with relationships."

"It's alright, neither do I."

For some reason that makes him chuckle, and then kiss me again. I don't mind as long as he doesn't stop. Somehow he must have Apparated us to the bedroom because next time I pause to breathe I'm on top of the bedcovers with him next to me, his hand snaking underneath my top and my hand in his hair. Yes, this is right. Give me more. Impatiently I start unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, I want him closer, now.

The scar on his chest is just the same as in my dreams. I recognise other marks, too, and the shamrock birthmark. How is it even possible? I give up; it's probably magic. Just before I can lower my head to trace all the marks with my lips he apparently has the same idea and Banishes my top somewhere else and soon I have his mouth seeking out all those places he's already found and I'm spiralling into bliss somewhere along the road, completely lost in the moment. He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow while his gaze flickers to my bra, and I happily oblige in lifting my shoulders slightly so that he can unhook it. I see his eyes widen as it comes off and then he pounces. Oh — it really does feel even better in reality. His mouth on my nipple, licking, nibbling, his other hand on the other side. I groan and tangle my hands in his hair.

"Please, Hermione, just say stop at any time if you feel unsure," he mutters against my skin.

"Don't you dare stop," I manage through the haze of bliss. I think I see him smile, proudly.

Somehow my jeans disappear and he's staring hungrily at my knickers while his hands slowly, slowly trail down my stomach, my hips, the outside of my thighs. I want more, no I need more, please, now before I burst. He starts trailing kisses along my leg and to my surprise it feels divine when he licks the inside of my knee. Then his hand gently ends up over my mound, I jolt from the contact, please oh please touch me more. I might have said as much because I can feel his chuckle against the inside of my thigh. Gods. Then slowly, slowly, he hooks his hands over the waistbands of my knickers and even more slowly pulls them down, even as I wriggle out of them as fast as I can.

"Exquisite," he breathes when he sees all of me, naked. I'm way beyond embarrassment over being naked in front of someone else, not when that person is him, and I reach out for him to kiss me. I need him, need to make sure he's real, finally. He tastes of tea and lust and wonder, this time, and I can't get enough. His trousers chafe against my legs so I order them off for symmetry's sake. He doesn't give me much time to revel in the touch of his legs against mine, however, as he scoots down again and this time cuts straight to the chase and — Oh. _Oh!_ — first he draws two fingers down my pussy and then his mouth descends on me and he finally inserts a finger, slowly. The sensation is overwhelming. He licks and rubs and very quickly I lose myself, my world is reduced to the rhythm he sets when he adds another finger and starts fucking me with them, gently at first, but still. I explode in no time at all with him guiding me all the way over the crest until I can finally see again and everything becomes too sensitive to touch. He licks his fingers clean with a satisfied smirk.

"Severus…" I murmur and reach for him, feeling oddly vulnerable.

He kisses me again and I taste myself on his tongue. I decide it's my turn now, to see if he is the same he's been in my dreams. I push him over on his back and kiss his nose, his forehead, his slightly scratchy jawline. I recall from my dreams that his ears and throat are sensitive — apparently it holds true in reality as well if his groans are anything to go by. I scoot down a little to inspect his chest with the smattering of dark hair between his nipples, and the familiar pattern of scars. He's still thin, not a lot of fat on his bones but with a wiry strength from physical labour. I rest my head on his shoulder and trail a hand down his stomach. He seems to hold his breath but his hand is drawing circles on my hip as I move lower through his thatch of coarse black hair and then grasp his stiff shaft. He's warm, smooth and hard to the touch, and I explore the ridges and contours while he lies with his eyes closed, brows furrowed.

I reach over to kiss him again while my hand trails down to his balls and he pulls me almost on top of him before toppling me over, reversing our positions.

"Hermione, do you want to continue?" he asks, pulling back to look at me.

"Gods, yes, Severus!"

He smiles at me, Summons his wand and murmurs an incantation over my stomach. Then his hand returns between my legs, stroking gently, his thumb circling my clit and I lose myself in single syllables again. Want, need, now. More. He murmurs something else that seems to coat his hand in something slick and messy, stroking my folds and then his cock with it before settling between my legs and it's as if _that_ part of me knows exactly what it is I've been missing all this time. The tip of his head tickles me while he kisses me again which causes my hips to twitch towards him, drawing him in.

Oh. _Ohhhhhh_ _—_

Fullness pressure but no pain, not with all that lubrication, and then he starts to move, gently, he seems to be holding back for my sake.

"I love you," I gasp and my hips move to meet him.

"Hermione, I'm yours, now and forevermore," he answers, picking up the pace.

"Mine," I groan.

"Love you," he manages and I'm flying with him, the rhythm we set —

"Yours," I respond and finally everything shatters, I howl his name as I come and his face contorts as he joins me. I swear I see stars, a golden flash of light surrounding us, is that really normal?

He collapses half across me in a sweaty tangled heap of limbs and gradually I return to my own sense of self.

"Um, is that light show normal?" I have to ask when my breathing has slowed enough for me to actually think again.

His eye cracks open. "… No?"

"It seems our engagement got cut short," he remarks with a quirked eyebrow and lifts my left hand. On my ring finger there's now a golden band that wasn't there this morning. Seven small diamonds glitter in the sunlight. He lifts his own left hand where a heavy golden band now sits on his ring finger.

"I didn't even get an engagement ring to show off," I complain but then I can't stop a huge grin from spreading. "Did we just accidentally get married?"

"It would seem so, Miss Granger," he drawls.

"Not anymore, then," I counter. He frowns in confusion so I continue. "The name, I mean."

He's suddenly serious again. "Hermione, I never meant to bind you like this already. You're young, I wanted you to be absolutely certain."

I nestle closer to him but am suddenly very aware of exactly how sticky we are. "I know, Severus, but it's not unwanted. Really. I think whatever magic drew us together is responsible for this, I will just assume that it knows what it's doing."

"I will protect you," he says and embraces me.

"I will defend you," I answer. "Shower?"

~x~x~x~

So many decisions, so little time, I just go along for the ride. It's odd how everything can go from slow and sedate to completely frantic within the space of one day. At least Harry has supported us during the completely crazy week we've had after our reunion. Is it only a week? It feels like several months, at least. We spent the rest of our _wedding day_ in bed, mainly, with some excursions to the kitchen and a Floo call with Harry so that he wouldn't worry. An official Ministry owl bearing our marriage certificate arrived first thing Monday morning. The Howlers started arriving Tuesday after the Prophet had written yet another first-page article about _the War Hero seduced by the Harpy of Gryffindor_. Severus burned the offending paper and set up anti-owl wards on the property. I got fired Tuesday mid-morning once my boss had read the paper and spent the rest of the afternoon feeling sorry for myself before deciding to get angry instead. Molly Weasley of course sent a Howler too, wailing about the injustice and poor Ron and how could you ever and all that rot.

Still, we have people on our side as well, including Harry, the rest of the Weasleys minus Ron, Percy and Molly. Even Luna, who came to visit and merely stated that our auras match so it all makes perfect sense. Headmistress McGonagall visited and was furious at first but ended up congratulating both of us. She asked what I'm planning to do and has given me some ideas to think about, maybe an Apprenticeship?

He even got me a ring, a simple solitary diamond in a gold band that was apparently one of the few things he inherited from his mother's family.

~x~x~x~

"Good morning, wife," he says when I wake up next to him in our bed.

"Husband," I say with a smile. A month in and I'm still giddy over that title.

While I get ready he's already set up breakfast for us. I'm starting my Charms apprenticeship tomorrow with Master Ainsworth, an acquaintance of both Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, and will be able to do some work from my newly arranged home office if I want. I'd like to look at memory charms or wards but we'll see what he has planned. At least I won't have to teach.

I'm sure we'll argue horribly at times and go sulk in our respective rooms but with him I finally feel complete again. It seems he feels the same, he's still in a state of wondrous disbelief that it might actually be true, all of this.

"Are you certain it's me that you want?" he asks me, half in jest, half serious before he goes out to the lab to finalise the latest order. His uncertainty makes my heart swell.

"Always," I answer and he smiles and kisses me again.


	4. Epilogue: Reminiscence

**Epilogue: Reminiscence**

Hello again, diary. I'm Hermione Snape, now five years later. I found this old journal in a chest when I was looking for something else, and was flung back to that time during the end of my Hogwarts days. Now I'm settled as a Charms Master with minors in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and mainly working on wards for protection for various clients. One of my first projects was an Anti-Howler Ward which confuses all owls that bear Howlers into returning the message to the sender before it blows up, which Molly Weasley among others found out the hard way.

"Husband," I say and reach down to kiss him.

"Wife," he answers, as usual, and pulls me down to his lap.

I tell him about this journal. He's most interested in my account of our impromptu bonding. We did hold a small celebration later, once we had managed to recover my parents and most of the media nonsense had died away.

Our relationship has managed to stay strong although there were plenty of hurdles along the way. The age difference, for one. It took him quite a while to stop seeing himself as my protector and me as his former student, and it took me quite a while to realise that he too was someone in need of support and protection. He held me during my nightmares, which was fine; I did the same for him, which he couldn't accept in the beginning. The first year was stressful. I was busy in my new apprenticeship, he was in the lab most of the time since he had to do all the brewing himself, and it was quite clear that he wasn't used to living with someone else. We also had to adjust our expectations for social events and the like, and nowadays he follows me to Harry or the Burrow without grumbling too much, and I can even stand to be in the same room as Draco or the elder Malfoys without jumping out of my skin. Oddly enough it was Draco who was the first to reach out, wanting to put an end to the distrust and prejudice, and he's become an unlikely friend who regularly joins us for dinner as long as I promise not to cook.

I also managed to find some ancient texts on affinity dreams and affinity bonds in the Malfoy library. Apparently they're very rare, the last documented instance in Britain was back in 1874 when a Welsh couple found themselves driven half mad before they figured out that they were dreaming about each other, and they too found themselves accidentally married when they gave in to their urges, breaking already arranged betrothal bonds on both sides.

"Any regrets?" he asks. Although his tone is light I can read the slight tension in his frame, he's more cautious than he appears.

"Never, Severus. Only you."

He closes his eyes and relaxes slightly. "Witch, I'm yours until the end of my days."

I kiss his brow. "You know… I've been dreaming again," I say hesitantly.

He puts the journal down. "Oh?"

"We've never discussed it properly but now with these dreams and I'm done with my Mastery so perhaps the time is better now and my parents could help out but maybe you don't want any —"

He exhales audibly and puts a finger to my lips. "Wife, breathe," he admonishes with a smirk. "Those dreams you speak of … I might have had them as well."

"Really? Of … of children?" A young girl with jet black hair that cascades down her shoulders in curly waves smiling at something the dream doesn't show, a boy sitting curled up to his father on the couch with a children's book. A girl — the same one? — standing next to her father in his lab, watching him brew, helping him cut up roots.

He nods and closes his eyes but pulls me down to sit across his lap. "I never thought I'd be a father, Hermione, and the only role model I had utterly failed at it. The thought still frightens me a bit, to be honest, but if it is something _you_ desire then I'm not averse to it."

"It scares me too, Severus. But for the record I think you'll be an excellent father."

"If you say so," he says a bit sceptically and then smiles in that crooked way I never can resist. "Care to practice, wife?"

"What — Oh!" I gasp as he scoops me up in his arms and carries me up to the bedroom.

Bliss.

I don't know what triggered all of this, the dreams and our connection, but every day I'm grateful for it, for waking up by his side, for being his companion through life.


End file.
